When Madmen Meet
by HomemadeMagic
Summary: In between books, Dumbledore and Voldie get bored, take vacations and coincidentally end up in the same place. They meet, they talk...about socks, pink elephants, and chocolate covered cherries, among other things. Written during the wait for OotP.


This was partially inspired by Madame Snuffles' story _Two Years of Limbo._ You can read it here at , or at the Sugar Quill, doesn't matter to me.

Disclaimer: If I owned these people, this is the kind of stuff you'd be reading about in the Harry Potter books. Praise God I don't own them, that's all I have to say. Mad props to JKR for inventing them. I promise not to screw up her universe too much, and if I completely ruin it, I'll try to pay damages. Honest.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed and looked around his office. He hated to admit it, but it was starting to get tiresome. He was sick of sitting around in this boring, stuffy place. He'd been staring out the window for hours, and nothing had changed. It was still raining buckets, and the occasional flash of lightning didn't do much to brighten his mood. He'd rearranged his collection of magical objects dozens of times. He'd reorganized the cataloguing system for his massive collection of books so many times that he had no idea where anything was anymore. He had vaguely considered selecting one at random and reading it, but just the thought of sitting still for another two hours was enough to make him twitch.

Dumbledore shook his head and mentally slapped himself. He loved Hogwarts, he really did. It was just that - well, staying in the same place for countless numbers of years got tedious after a while. _Especially, _he thought, _When a certain book simply will not get written! _

He had been sitting around waiting for that book to get written for...he checked his watch. Exactly two years, three months, six days, forty five and six...seven...eight...seconds. The action simply would not start until the fifth book was finally finished. In the meantime, there was only so much he could do to forward the cause of the Order of the Phoenix. He had begun his campaign against the Ministry, but he couldn't do much without plot direction - and the Ministry could do almost nothing, since its reaction was such a big plot element.

So the feud was rather one-sided for now. It occured to Dumbledore that he should probably be grateful to do as much as he could unheeded, but in fact it was rather like being in the eye of a hurricane - he was just waiting for the worst of the storm to hit, and until it did there wasn't a lot to do except imagine all the horrible possibilities. If he got taken off the Chocolate Frog cards once the book started, he would be _devastated_. But it was best not to think about that.

Dumbledore sighed again and leaned back, wishing it wasn't so gloomy, so he could go outside. Visions of blue skies, fresh air and green grass danced in his head. Why was he, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stuck inside in a stuffy room? Suddenly, he stood up in firm resolution. Sod the rain - he, Albus Dumbledore, deserved a vacation. Sure, this was really one long endless one...but, hey, that didn't make a difference. He was still bored, and he needed a break from worrying about Voldemort taking over the world.

Before he could change his mind, Dumbledore strode out of his office and towards the edge of Hogwarts grounds, intending to Apparate from there.

After all, if anything happened, Snape or McGonagall would be sure to contact him immediately and tell him what was wrong.\

* * *

Voldemort groaned and looked around at the stuffy insides of his Insert Voldie's Center of Operations Here. Sometimes, he just had to admit that this whole I-Am-Evil-Bow-To-Me-Mwahahaha thing had its downsides. Like now, for instance. Here he was, future king of the world, stuck inside this damp, dreary House...Cave...Thing with no one but a stupid, sniveling rat-like moron to keep him company. Harry Potter, his evil arch-nemesis, was probably off chilling on some tropical island with those stupid relatives of his, laughing and joking and having fun.

Voldemort sighed at the thought, getting a mental image of Harry in a bathing suit, skin wet and glistening with--he started suddenly, realizing exactly _what_ he was thinking.

_Okay, that is the absolute last straw,_ Voldie thought decidedly. He was _not_ going to sit around in this dismal-looking place imagining what The Boy Who Lived look liked in his underwear.

But, hey, the tropical island thing sounded kind of...inviting. It would be a nice change from all this darkness and evilness he loved to surround himself with. Not that he didn't love darkness, but come on, he wasn't a vampire - yet.

A trickle of slime from the Random Place's wall dripped down on his robes. Voldemort made a face. That was it, he decided. "Wormtail!" he called.

"Y-y-yes, M-m-master?" said a timid, stuttering voice.

Voldie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He _had_ to get away from that _voice._ "Wormie, I'm taking a vacation."

"You're--what?" For once in his life, Peter (or, as Voldemort privately called him, That Stupid Rat) was shocked out of his stutter.

"I'm taking a vacation," he said again, more decisively. He stood up and strode towards the VOLDIE'S OFFICE OF EVILNESS's entrance. He would Apparate from there.

After all, if anything went wrong, Snape or Malfoy would be sure to tell him immediately. Or he would have their heads on a stick. Voldie half-grinned to himself. _Damn, it's fun to be evil,_ he thought as he disappeared.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed happily, closing his eyes as the smell of salt air entered his nostrils. _This is the life,_ he thought, _No obligations, no duties, no Dark Lords to defeat, no Ministry to annoy, no students to punish..._he had to admit, the last part was the worst. Not the actual punishment - the restraining of laughter when the students in question had done something really hilarious. The number of ribs he had cracked trying not to laugh at one of Fred or George's jokes...it was really hard to give them detention, no matter how much they deserved it.

Kicking up sand absentmindedly, Dumbledore wandered aimlessly down the beach, lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally he would stop for a minute to look out at the water, marveling at the ocean...the way it went on and on forever, an endless stretch of blue, reflecting the sky and the shadows of the clouds in its depths. His eyes and ears were so full of the stunning beauty and the roar of the ocean that he nearly tripped over Voldemort.

Wait a second--_Voldemort? _What the--he blinked and looked closer. Yes, there he was - his arch-nemesis was lying on a towel with suntan lotion lathered all over his slightly grey skin and his eyes closed.

Dumbledore's first instinct was to draw out his wand and curse the bastard six ways from Sunday--but, no, that wouldn't be a good idea. After all, this was Harry's enemy to face, and he couldn't do it til the fifth book started.

His second option was to stop staring and just walk quietly around him, saying nothing. After all, even evil geniuses needed a vacation after a while, he supposed. He had started to do just that when the evil-looking red eyes opened.

"Why, hello, Dumbledore," an evil, slimy voice said. Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"Hello, Voldemort," he said pleasantly, "What brings you to this beautiful island today?"

Voldemort shrugged and sat up. "Had to get out of that bloody DWELLING," he said, "Sliminess and dampness get stuffy after a while, you know."

"You don't have to tell me," Dumbledore agreed, "I can barely breathe in my office, it feels like it hasn't been aired out for two years."

"Probably hasn't," Voldemort pointed out.

"True," Dumbly-dorr agreed.

"If Jo Rowling would just start the book--"

"Oh, I _know!_ You know, there are only so many letters I can send and Ministers I can bash over the head with a stick in order to thwart your attempts to take over the world. Eventually you just have to _do _it."

"I wish I could help, but, hey, what am I supposed to do? I have to lie low for now, you know, or the Minister will actually _believe _you and then I'll really be in trouble...do you have any idea how boring it is to lie in wait?"

Dumbledore walked over and sat down on the sand - not _too_ close to Voldie - so he could talk better. "I'm even getting tired of all my books," he said, "And let me tell you, I have plenty. Too many!"

Voldemort made a sympathetic noise - well, it wasn't _really_ sympathetic, but it was about as close as someone who has sold all seven pieces of his soul to the devil can get. "People giving you books every year, too? I get so sick of that."

"Tell me about it," moaned Dumbledore, "Do you know how hard it is to find a decent pair of socks these days? My feet are _freezing_ during the winter, and what do I get for Christmas? Books! I mean, they're all very well, and I do appreciate it...really! But, honestly, what am I supposed to do when I get cold? Wear books on my feet?"

Voldemort cracked an ugly smile at the image. "I know," he agreed, "My socks get absolutely disgusting in that DWELLING of mine. All slimy and nasty, they're not even fit for _Wormtail_ to wear, and that's saying something. And you know how cheap Snape is, gets me the same box of chocolates every year - eats all the caramel ones, of course, even though I've _told _him not to..."

"He does that to you, too? And I thought I was the only one! I've asked him over and over, _please_ don't eat the chocolate covered cherries, they're my favorite, and every year--"

"No cherries," finished Voldemort. "Tell you what, I hate those things, next year we can just switch boxes."

"That would be perfect," Dumbledore said thankfully. "Oh, speaking of Snape, have you _ever_ managed to find a good gift for him? Every time I buy him something, he seems to hate it...well, I kind of brought it on myself last year, with those pink elephant boxers--"

For the first time in many, many years, Voldemort let out a snort of laughter that _wasn't_ entirely evil. "You _what?_"

Dumbledore shrugged. "It was the only thing I could find! You should've seen the look on his face when he opened them, though..." he grinned at the memory. "I thought he would throw them in the fire immediately, but I swear I saw him wearing them the other day when he ran out of robes and had to wear jeans..."

Voldemort got an evil glint in his eyes. "Oh, please tell me you got a picture of that..."

Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. "No, sorry, wasn't fast enough," he said, secretly promising never to lie again. But no _way_ was he letting Voldie get his hands on his secret stash of Snape-blackmail material.

"Oh well," the Evil Genius said, "Maybe next time."

"We'll see," Dumbledore agreed, "Anyway, have _you_ ever found anything he likes?"

Voldemort shook his head mournfully. "You think _you've _got it bad with one Death Eater, try shopping for a herd of them! Talk about picky! I mean, Malfoy didn't even like the engraved pink and gold thumbscrews I got him last year. Would you believe!"

Dumbledore clucked disbelievingly. "The nerve of some people," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, and the Dementors absolutely refused to wear the lovely purple silk robes I found for them in Hogsmeade - pretty things really, and I even enchanted them to sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' whenever they administered the Dementor's Kiss. I thought that was very appropriate. But they didn't like them for some reason, said they weren't menacing enough...I don't get what's wrong with them, do you?"

Dumbledore shook his head solemnly. "I wouldn't mind robes like that, would give the students a scare, don't you think? Though I really prefer to write 'damn sexy for an old guy' on the back of mine, they get a kick out of it."

Voldemort gasped. "What does McGonagall say?"

"Oh, she thinks I'm raving mad, of course, but I say, what's the fun in being old if you can't be a little insane every once in a while?"

"True, true," said Voldemort, nodding. Just then, an owl flew up to him and dropped a letter in his lap, then settled comfortably in the sand and waited for him to open it. He sighed, ripped it open and scanned the contents. "Oh, lovely," he muttered under his breath. Out loud, he said, "Well, Dumbledore, it's been...interesting, but I have to go."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling, "Duty calls."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's just that idiot Lestrange again, probably wants more 'emotional support.' I swear to Satan, if that man asks me one more time whether his hair looks better green or orange, I'm going to smack him silly."

"Well, good luck," Dumbledore told him, "Sounds like you'll need it."

"You can say that again," Voldemort muttered. "See you in the next book!"

"So, not for another couple centuries..."

Voldemort cracked another evil-looking grin and disappeared with a crack.

* * *

Dumbledore sat for a minute on the beach, smiling and looking out at the endless expanse of ocean. A seagull called from nearby, and the waves tore up the sand. Other than that, there was pure silence. He sat for a moment, treasuring it, before getting up and shaking out his robes. He had work to do, if he was ever going to defeat that pinnacle of evilness before he died.

Drawing out his wand, he smiled a little at the thought of his conversation. Then he vanished, and all memories of it faded out of his mind.

Well, mostly. Every once in a while, after the fifth book finally started, when things got too rough, Dumbledore would sit back and think of an island, with the ocean roaring, the sand blowing, the gulls calling, and a certain evil genius lying a towel with lotion spread over his grey skin...

And then he would go to his closet, and pull out the towel and a picture, and laugh for a minute at the sight of Voldemort on that pink teddy-bear towel, with that raspberry-scented lotion.

Then he would put the picture and the towel away, pick up a quill and sit down to do his paper, pausing every minute or so to grab a chocolate-covered cherry from a nearby box.

* * *

A couple hundred miles away, a certain evil genius was bemoaning the loss of his favorite towel...but, he guessed it was too late to go back now. After all, if anyone ever found it, he could always just pretend it was Dumbledore's.

After all, there wasn't a picture of him with it...was there? Voldemort shrugged. The caramel chocolates were really good...he grabbed the box from the corner and bit in, thoughts of ocean and gulls and slightly-insane old men flying temporarily from his mind.

* * *

If you're interested in more stories like this, where the characters are finished with the book or waiting around for the next one, you may want to check out Journey to Reality, by rocky. It's not quite as humorous as this story and the one mentioned at the beginning, but it's _very_ good. 


End file.
